


Teasing

by gunmetal_ring



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Prison (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunmetal_ring/pseuds/gunmetal_ring
Summary: Daryl always says, "Stop."
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	Teasing

Taking the prison yard feels better than anything's felt in a long time.

Daryl and Rick make a silent decision to stand watch, at least for a little while; they cleared the yard, sure, but there might be weak links in the fences they overlooked. No point in getting comfortable just to get eaten later.

Rick's walking the perimeter, so Daryl's been standing on the overturned bus in front of the main gate. Pretty useful vantage point, didn't even have to flip the damn thing himself.

Good thing he's got the poncho, though, since it's cold as hell away from the fire. Don't know how some of them are warm enough, seeing as how they just got outta the coldest winter they'd had in years, because of course the world isn't done fucking them over just yet.

A plate of food materializes at his feet, and he straps the crossbow to his back so he can help lift Carol up.

She says, "It's not much, but if I don't bring you something, you won't eat at all."

He glances over at the group - they're far away enough that they can't hear anything. "I guess li'l Shane over there's got quite the appetite," he says, and drops a chunk of meat into his mouth.

She tries to scold him, but she can't hide her smile, and he feels a little bubble of pride at that. "Don't be mean. Rick's gotten us a lot farther than I ever thought he would, I'll give him that."

"Mm." Carol's gotten pretty good with road food over the past couple months - it's not half-bad.

"Shane could never have done that." She rolls her shoulder, an odd little stretch, but doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong?" he asks around another mouthful of food.

She keeps rolling, but looks back at him. "It's that rifle, the kickback." She curls her hand into her shoulder, trying to massage it, but from the look on her face it's not working. "I'm just not used to it."

She's never gonna be able to work it out that way. Before he realizes what he's doing, he says, "Hold on," and lays the plate of food at his feet, sucking his fingers clean and beckoning to her.

She turns to him, he puts his hands on her shoulders and starts rubbing, and he's surprised at himself.

He's not the touchy-feely type - that much is obvious - but she isn't either, not really. At least, not that he's seen. But she's spent more time with him than anyone else, so he probably knows her best.

But maybe she doesn't like having men touch her, no matter how long they've hung around. That good-for-nothing piece of shit didn't do her any favors, that's for damn sure. And now Daryl didn't even bother to ask before he started groping at her.

He's glancing at her, trying to judge by the back of her head, but when she meets his gaze he can't quite parse what he sees. He thought he'd gotten pretty good at reading her, but maybe not.

He suddenly feels unsure of himself, and drops his hands. "Better get back," he grunts. No point in waiting around for it to get more awkward than it already is. There's a weird, twitchy feeling settling in his stomach. He doesn't like it.

Carol smirks. "It's pretty romantic." She purses her lips, as if she's considering her next words. "Wanna screw around?"

He does a double-take, and it takes him a second to realize she's joking. He makes a vague sound of dismissal, but when he looks over at her, she's smiling, and they start laughing.

He never used to laugh very much, unless he was high as all hell. It still surprises him when he does, but it's nice. She's been able to pull it out of him more and more lately.

He shakes his head and makes for the door. "I'll go down first."

"Even better."

He stops in his tracks, slowly looks back at her, incredulous. She's still smirking.

He can't believe she just said that. He feels his face turning pink. He tries to hide it, starts to climb back down. He mutters, "Stop," but he can still feel her silently laughing at him.

God, that's embarrassing.

\--

Hershel's bit, and the prisoners are psychotic, and then Lori and T-Dog and Carol are dead, and the only thing that keeps him from shutting down completely is Li'l Asskicker. She's something to live for. Something to fight for.

And so he gets up the courage to find a Cherokee rose, and lays it on Carol's grave. She deserves to be honored like that.

But then, he finds her, and suddenly the world isn't quite so bleak and unforgiving. Li'l Asskicker doesn't have the weight of Daryl's purpose in life solely resting on her shoulders anymore.

While he's carrying Carol to her cell, dirty and hungry and dehydrated, he vows to himself that he will never underestimate her, ever again.

\--

Glenn sidles up to him one day after Daryl drops off a fox and a couple ducks he found that morning, and decides it's a good time to get up into his business.

"So, you and Carol are spending a lot of time together lately, huh?"

Daryl just cuts him a look, but keeps walking. Of course Glenn walks with him. Apparently he has nothing better to do, even though there's about a hundred chores that need doing.

He can _hear_ Glenn's stupid sly grin. "You know, there's nothing wrong with it. Most of the family's been paired up for a while, anyway."

Daryl scoffs. "Ain't _paired up_."

"I don't know. It seems like you've been _paired up_ since we left the quarry." Thank fuck he don't mention Sophia - Daryl might've decked him for that.

"Yeah, well, Lori been the center of attention since day one, anyway." Princess Lori, more like, but he'd get in trouble for that one. Fatmouth Glenn says anything to everybody, except maybe Hershel. Got a lick of common sense for that.

He sees Glenn shrug his shoulders out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, well. Can't exactly blame them for that one. Being pregnant's already tough, especially now."

 _Like a soap_ _opera_ , he thinks, but he'd _definitely_ get in trouble for that. Carol's the only one he could say that too, and even then she'd scold him.

But Glenn keeps talking. Never seems to run out of words, that one. "But anyway, I think it's nice that you're sticking with Carol. She's a lot tougher now, but it's good that she has you to look out for her, you know? She's been through enough without having anyone to talk to. Or, well, I guess she has Lori and Maggie and Beth and all, but it's different with girls."

Daryl slings his pack onto his perch, and stares at Glenn to wait him out. What he _really_ wanted to say was _get lost, you little shit_ , but Carol said he should try to be more mindful of the way he talks to people. Which means he should try to be less of an asshole. Can't figure out a better way to do that than to just never say a damn word. Which is fine by him, anyway. Never was much of a talker in the first place.

The silence is long enough that Glenn finally seems to get it, and departs with a smirk on his face. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Carol should be off laundry duty soon, anyway."

Daryl glares at the back of his head. Stupid kid.

He spends a few minutes cleaning his gun, and heads down the steps for walker duty. Carol meets him outside. "Hey, pookie."

He grunts.

She smiles, and walks with him. He's popular today.

"You know, you're exempt from morning shifts when you come back from a hunt. You're already doing enough."

He shrugs. "Ain't like I'm tired or nothin'. 'Sides, the cluster on the east wall's gettin' a little crowded anyway."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. Three's company, and all that." He hears the teasing note in her voice, but he pretends like he misses the innuendo.

He picks up the lead pipe hooked to the fence, and sees her grab the long rusted valve screw. "What're you doin'? Ain't you s'posed to be on laundry duty?"

She walks into the field, heading east. "We've collected quite a bit more clothing lately, so there's not nearly the rush there used to be. Beth said she'd finish the folding herself." She eyes him, and adds, "It would take me twice as long if you'd let me wash your clothes. It looks like you haven't changed them in days. They must be able to stand up on their own by now."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, don't need no maid. No point in getting clean clothes dirty with the same shit as before."

She smirks. "Are you ever gonna let me get your pants off?"

He feels his cheeks get red. "Stop."

He reaches for the screw, and she pulls it away from him. "You've got your own! What do you need mine for?"

He grabs it anyway, and hands her his lead pipe. "Ain't gonna let you give yourself tetanus or nothin' in your free time. Don't even know why we still have this damn thing."

"My hero." He can hear the smile in her voice.

They've reached the cluster, and he's stabbing walkers through the head until his arms start to ache. He shakes them out, and looks around for Maggie to relieve him, but she's nowhere to be found. Glenn's on watch anyway, and when he looks up at the east tower he doesn't see the glint of the gun in the sunlight. Figures.

"Stupid horny kids," he mutters, and gets back to stabbing.

Carol's out of breath next to him, but she still manages, "Oh, please, as if you haven't thought about it before."

He scoffs. "Maggie's barely legal. Glenn ain't my type." A fresh coat of walker blood sprays his shirt when he stabs a particularly squishy skull. Filthy bastards.

Carol steps away from the fence to bend over, breathing hard. He says, without looking at her, "Take a break, ain't like they goin' anywhere."

"That's the problem, don't you think?" But she sits down and catches her breath for a while.

He can feel her watching him. It makes him twitchy. "Quit starin' at me."

She chuckles. "Rather look at you than the other side of that fence." He glances, and sure enough, there's plenty of walkers staring at her, hands outstretched. He stands in front of her, blocking their line of sight, and starts stabbing again.

After another minute or so, she walks back to where he was and gets to work. She glances at him, and says, "You know, you're pretty good at screwing."

His cheeks get hot again, and he curses himself for being such an easy target. "Stop."

Mercifully, she does, and not a moment too soon does Maggie finally come by to relieve him. "'S 'bout damn time, good lord."

She doesn't even have the decency to apologize. Instead, she rolls her eyes, and holds out her hand for the screw. He slaps it onto her palm. Let her get tetanus. Payback for making him stab walkers half the day.

Carol _tsk_ s and takes the screw out of her hands, gives her the lead pipe instead. "I'm gonna see if I can clean this off, keep it from getting anyone sick." She heads back with him, but walks to the infirmary, and he doesn't bother following her.

Daryl never had a friend like Carol. She gives a shit. She gives a shit the way Merle said nobody ever would. She knows him. She saw him at his worst, she let him lash out at her, and she still gives a shit.

So he hates how lately he gets all twitchy after spending a lot of time one-on-one with her. It's different than how he feels when he's with Rick or Glenn or Maggie for a while. He gets antsy with them, too, but it's different.

He refuses to think about why.

\--

Later that night, she comes by his perch, just before he's about to fall asleep.

"Are you really that comfortable sleeping on the floor?"

He grunts. "Can't get a damn moment's rest 'round here, huh." But he sits up all the same, wiping a hand across his eyes.

She waits, and he relents. "Got a mattress, don't I?"

She rolls her eyes. "The floor isn't exactly the same as a spring. At least the bed frame can support two mattresses without them sliding around." She casts a meaningful look at the thin, shitty excuse for a mattress he's got splayed sideways on the floor.

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, sure as hell not sleepin' in no damn cage."

She chooses not to argue with him, and beckons to him instead. "C'mon, hand 'em over."

He blinks. "Hand what over?"

"Your filthy clothes. I can't stand to think about you eating and hunting and killing and sleeping in the same crusted jeans for weeks on end. When was the last time you took a shower, anyway?"

He scowls. "I shower enough. Not my fault everyone else is too fussy to deal with their own mess."

"Sure, Daryl. We're fussy. Hand 'em over."

He casts a hand around, vaguely gesturing towards the sleeping area below. "No way'm I gonna just strip down to my birthday suit for the whole cellblock to see!"

She smirks. "No, but you can do it just for me."

His cheeks get hot again. He walked right into that one. "Stop."

She points to an empty cell across the way. "I'm not joking, Daryl Dixon. I brought a fresh pair of jeans and some shirts for you to layer up." She smirks again. "No underwear, though."

He scoffs. "Woman, don't start with me." But she's handing them over, and there's underwear right on top. He looks back at her, and snorts. "Really? Tighty-whities?"

She shrugs, trying to look all innocent. Please. If she's innocent he's the damn Pope. "Well, you've never told me if you're a boxers or briefs man. I had to guess."

"And you guessed tighty-whities?"

She smiles, really laying the sweetness on thick. No way is he falling for it. "If you don't want to wear them, I'll take them back."

He glares at her. "Quit talkin' 'bout my drawers." But he can see she's not gonna back off, and with a huff he stalks off to a corner of the cellblock, too far away for anyone - least of all Carol - to see him change. He hangs a blanket from the bunk over the bars on the door and changes as quick as he can. Doesn't wear the tighty-whities, though. Damn things are way too uncomfortable. Too tight. Too white to do anyone some damn good, too.

He rolls them up inside his dirty jeans and walks back to his perch. He stuffs his dirty clothes into his pack, but she's holding out her hand.

"Daryl, give them to me."

He scoffs. " _Told_ you, don't need no damn maid."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You're gonna tell me that you'll clean those off all by yourself. Really."

He glares at her, but doesn't say a word. Yeah, she's probably right. Those things'll stink to high heaven before he scrubs them clean. Like he's got nothing better to do.

She _tsk_ s again. Scolding him must be one of her favorite things in this world. Not like she could ever scold her husband around, since he'd probably beat her all to shit if she dared.

He won't let the next obvious thought make itself known.

"Just you wait, Daryl Dixon. I'll get you in the habit of wearing clean clothes before you know it."

He snorts. "Thought you wanted to get me outta my clothes." It slips out before he realizes what he said. But he feels a little smug when he sees her eyes widen, face growing pink like his is. Serves her right.

But she just grins at him. "You're not wrong," she says, and with that, she's gone.

He can't stop replaying it in his head - he _never_ says shit like that. That's always her. She's rubbing off on him. And when _that_ thought comes up, he knows exactly what she'd say to that, too.

He shakes his head at himself, and eventually his mind slows its whirring enough that he can sleep.

\--

The next day, he walks over to the west tower to relieve Rick, and it's a boring shift.

When he gets back from watch duty, he heads to his perch to grab his whittling knife from his pack. True to her word, she'd snatched the dirty clothes as soon as he'd left.

Goddammit. He's got half a mind to stomp over to where she's posted on laundry duty, but he's only got a few arrows left. So instead, he sits down in the yard with his bag of feathers, knife, and fallen branches, and gets to work.

It isn't until he's halfway through carving his second arrow that he realizes that she must have noticed that there wasn't any dirty underwear in his pack.

Fuck. She's never gonna let that go.

\--

He's on watch duty night after next, and he waves off Maggie when she comes to relieve him, tells her to come back in a few hours. He doesn't mind being alone, and Glenn had just gotten back from a run with Rick, and she had made it clear that she was worried about him when he'd left. Stupid, because they were only gone for a few hours, and it was to check out a strip mall they'd passed by on the last run, so it's not like they were exploring new territory or nothing. But they're inseparable, so. That's that.

He should have known better, though, because whenever he misses dinner, Carol always brings some to him. Even though lately he's been giving half of it to her, more often than not.

And right on schedule, he hears her climb the watch tower. Smells like those wild onions Rick found, cooked with whatever he found on his hunt this morning.

"Brought you some dinner, pookie."

His stomach chooses to rumble at that very moment, because of course the underwear conversation she's probably going to force him into isn't embarrassing enough, and she chuckles. "Just in time, too."

He grunts, and hands her the gun so he can eat with both hands.

She's not watching the yard, though. She's watching him.

"What?" he grumbles through a full mouth.

She just flashes him a small smile and shakes her head. "You're just funny."

He snorts, almost choking before he swallows his food. "Yeah, real fuckin' joker."

She rolls her eyes. "No, I don't mean like _that._ Or, well, actually, sometimes that's true. But you're just... I guess _quirky_ is the word I'm looking for."

He eyes her, sucks his fingers clean. "The hell's that s'posed to mean?"

She shrugs. "Not a bad thing. You just have habits that nobody else does. They define you." He sees a smirk growing on her face. "Some of them are even cute."

He hates that he feels his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, well. Guess you're _quirky_ too."

Her smirk widens. "Oh, yeah? What are some of the things that I do that you find cute?"

His cheeks grow hotter. "Sure as hell ain't this conversation," and he shoves the remaining food toward her.

She shakes her head. "No, I had plenty to eat. We actually had a good meal."

He's not sure that he believes that, but this is one of those dinners that actually tastes half-decent, so he takes it back and keeps eating.

She sighs, and looks up at the sky. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It's a shame that the only reason we can see the stars so clearly is because all the electricity's gone, but it's still nice to look at."

He looks up. It _is_ nice. Reminds him of camping with his dad once as a kid that didn't go completely to shit. Before he got blind stinking drunk, of course. "Know how to read 'em?"

She turns to him. "Read what, the stars?"

He nods, and she chuckles. "Is there anything you _don't_ know?"

He snorts. "Plenty." He sucks his fingers clean again, and points to a group of stars. "See that curve of stars there? With a little square next to it? Kinda looks like a pot?"

She nods. "Yeah, I sort of remember something about constellations from school. Isn't that one of the dippers?"

"Yeah, 's called the Big Dipper. See the same shape over there, but smaller?" She nods again. "That's the Li'l Dipper. 'S in a bunch of cultures, lot of times s'posed to be bears. Greeks said that Zeus was a horndog, and his wife was jealous as hell, so she turns his girlfriend into a bear. Girlfriend's son is a hunter, comes across her one day and almost shoots her, but Zeus feels guilty about the whole thing, since it's his fault and all, so he stops it, and turns her son into a bear too. So now mom and son are in the sky together forever."

He's thinking about the Cherokee rose, and he knows she is too.

There's something special about mothers. Mothers aren't supposed to lose their kids. Different for them than it is for fathers. But they do, all the time. Especially now.

He wishes, for the millionth time, it had turned out any other way for her, and feels a familiar wave of self-loathing and guilt wash over him.

He hears her take a shaky breath in. "Is that what you meant by 'reading the stars'?"

He clears his throat. "I'm gettin' there. So the last star in the handle of the Li'l Dipper is the north star. 'S called that 'cause if you draw a straight line down from the star to the horizon, that's north."

She _hmm_ s at that, but doesn't say anything else. So he keeps talking.

He points out Cassiopeia, and Cepheus, and Draco, and by the time Maggie comes back, he's convinced Carol to finish the last few bites of his stew, and walks her back to her cell.

He doesn't realize until he's in bed that she hadn't brought up his underwear - or lack thereof - and wonders if she just never noticed.

\--

The next day, as he's slinging his crossbow around his back to prepare for a quick run back to the strip mall, she says goodbye with the rest of them, and surprises him by squeezing his hand for a few seconds before letting go.

He watches her turn around and walk back into the prison, and when Glenn smacks him on the arm with a knowing look, he just flips him off and gets his bike ready.

Little shit.

\--

A few days later, he's changing the bike's oil out in the yard when Carol finds him and sits down next to him. "Hey, you. How's it going?"

He shrugs. "'S goin'."

She picks up the wrench and fiddles with it, sunlight glinting off it into his eyes. "Shit. Watch where you point that thing, woman."

"Whoops, sorry, pookie."

"'S fine, I need it anyway," and she hands it over.

He's working on the filter when she says, "You never answered my question, by the way."

He doesn't bother looking at her. "What question?"

"The one from the other night. What are some things that I do that you find cute?"

Dammit. This again. He feels his cheeks get hot. Will he ever stop doing that?

He tries to refocus on the bike. "Why you wanna know so bad?"

She laughs. "Ah, so there _are_ some things!"

"Stop."

She sighs. "Oh, Daryl, you make it too easy sometimes." A pause, and then, "You wanna know which habits of yours I find cute?"

He can't remember what he was doing. "Nope."

"I think it's cute that you eat with both hands."

He grunts. "Makes twice as much work to clean, ain't worth it these days."

She shrugs. "Yeah, maybe." He can feel her eyes on him. "I think it's cute that you get so embarrassed when I tease you."

His face gets redder, but he refuses to take the bait.

And then she says, "I think it's cute that you go commando."

He drops the wrench onto the grass. "Son of a bitch."

At that, she laughs, loud and bright. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

He just groans, buries his face in his hands. "God _dammit_."

"No wonder you got so offended when I brought you the tighty-whities. Wearing underwear's beneath your station."

"Carol, I swear t'god."

Her laughter finally subsides, just a little. Thank fuck, because he just _knows_ Fatmouth Glenn's been telling whoever'll listen that they're _paired up_. No need to draw attention, give 'em more ammo.

"Oh, it's fine. I've been wondering what you've got underneath all that anyway."

"Stop."

She actually listens, for once, and he can finally feel his face going back to normal, but he still can't focus on the bike. Goddammit. He's too twitchy.

"So I've been wondering."

He snorts. "That's never good."

She _tsk_ s at him, and says, "This was Merle's bike, right? Was he a skinhead?"

He whips his head around. "What?"

She points to the _SS_ on the side of the bike. "That. That's a Nazi symbol."

He looks at it. "Oh, yeah, guess so. Wasn't a skinhead, I mean, but. 'S a biker thing."

She just _hmm_ s at that, but doesn't say anything else. He feels a little prick of shame flare up inside of him at that, and doesn't say another word.

When she leaves, he grabs some nearby twigs, and starts scratching off the paint as best he can.

\--

Days pass, with more or less of the same, until he realizes one day that Carol's nowhere to be found, and nobody's seen her all day. He peeks into her cell, and she's curled up on the bed, facing the wall.

He counts backwards, isn't sure how many days he's fucked up, but he thinks it might be Sophia's birthday.

Fuck.

There's still enough daylight, so he makes a run for the forest. Takes him a few hours, it's almost dark, but he makes it back in time.

Later that night, when everyone's gone to sleep, he creeps up to Carol's room, taps on the door frame. "You up?"

He hears her whisper, "Come in," and so he does. She sits up, her legs hanging off the bed, and he crouches in front of her.

"Brought you somethin'," he says, and presents her with two Cherokee roses, clumsily tied together with a grass knot.

He sees her eyes get watery, and hopes like hell she doesn't cry. He doesn't want to make her cry.

She's trying to fight it back, he can tell, but she just croaks, "Oh, _Daryl_ ," and throws her arms around his neck, joining him on the floor.

He's a little taken aback, but he lets her do it anyway.

He touches her ribcage, hates that he can feel each one, and rubs his thumbs gently along the side of it.

She sniffles a little, pulls back and wipes at her face. "Sorry," she whispers, and he huffs out a laugh.

"Nothin' to be sorry for. Didn't mean to make you sad."

She shakes her head. "Not sad, Daryl. I mean, I miss her. I miss her so much. I wish she was still here with me."

He nods. "Yeah, 'course."

She takes in a deep breath. "But I'm not so sad anymore, Daryl. I can't be. I can't spend my life like that. It would make her death pointless. I live for her, every day."

He blinks. "Then why you cryin'?"

She smiles at him, a small, bittersweet thing. "Because, Daryl. You're just..." She gestures at him, but doesn't really get her point across. "You're just you. You look out for us, and you bring me roses when she's missing, and you try to find her, and you protect me, protect all of us, and now... now you're bringing me roses on her birthday."

He shrugs. "Ain't nothin'." Sure, he's lying, he was trying to make her happy, but it's not like he's gonna _tell_ her that.

She smacks him on the arm. "It's not nothing, and I know you don't think that." She wipes at her face again. "Why two?"

He should've known she'd ask. "One 'cause of the first time. Another one 'cause it's her first birthday."

She gives him that smile again, and winces when she stands up.

"Y'okay?"

She stretches. "Yeah, I'm just too old to be kneeling like that." She's got that look back in her eye, and she says, "Although I could make an exception."

He reddens. "Stop."

She sits on the bed again, and pats the space next to her. "Sit with me."

After a moment, he kicks off his boots and sits, leaning until his back hits the frame at the foot of the bed, hangs a leg off the side for his foot to touch the floor. She turns to face him, cross-legged, and just looks at him.

He's getting twitchy again. "What?"

She just keeps looking at him, and he stares back.

Eventually, she says, "You smell good."

His cheeks heat up again. "Stop."

She smiles. "No, I mean it. You smell... clean. Like soap."

He props his arm up on one of his knees, and bites at his fingernail. "Yeah, so?"

" _So_ , does that mean you showered?"

He scoffs. "Why you wanna know so bad?"

She grins. "I was wondering if I was gonna have to give you a sponge bath at some point." She looks him over, and says, "Still might."

"Stop." His face is bright red, he just knows it.

She sighs. "Daryl."

He's still chewing on his nail. "What?"

"If you really wanted me to stop, you'd leave, wouldn't you?"

He doesn't know how his face can get hotter, but somehow it does. "Don't wanna be rude."

She rolls her eyes. "As if that's ever stopped you before."

He hesitates. "D'you want me to leave?"

He hopes she doesn't want him to leave.

She shakes her head. "No, I don't." A different look entirely appears on her face, and she says, "But I have to think it means something."

He furrows his brows at her, but doesn't say anything.

She sighs again. "I mean, you don't leave, whenever I'm flirting with you and you get all embarrassed. Doesn't that mean something?"

He's frozen, stopped chewing on his nail, and can't say anything.

And she flashes him a small smile at that. "And doesn't it mean something that you're not leaving now?"

He can't breathe. Can't move.

Everything inside of him is screaming at him to _get out_ , _run_ , _hide_ , but his body is refusing to listen.

She reaches out, gently pulls his hand away from his mouth. "Do you _want_ it to mean something?"

He doesn't say anything.

She laces her fingers through his, and he doesn't say anything at that, either.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm really going to have to do all the work here, aren't I."

Apparently, because he still isn't moving. Isn't doing a damn thing.

She lets go of his fingers, crawls towards him, slow as can be - is this really happening? - and is on all fours between the V of his legs, giving him all the time in the world to say his line. Say _stop_.

This time, he doesn't.

She sits, and twirls a finger through his hair. "It's getting long. It looks nice when it's clean." She smiles. "Feels nice, too."

He's feeling lightheaded from holding his breath so long, so he manages a shaky exhale. Fuck. What the fuck.

Her smile widens at that, and she leans forward, until she's close as can be without actually touching him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She waits, just for a moment, and then she kisses him.

He sucks in a breath, feels her smile against his mouth, and kisses her back.

Fuck.

She opens her mouth, and dammit. He can't remember the last time he did this. He was a fucking kid. Fuck.

He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. How is he forty-fuckin'-years old and not know how to kiss a woman? Jesus Christ.

He doesn't even think about all the other shit he doesn't know how to do.

She pulls back, and whispers, "Okay?"

All he can do is nod, and brushes his thumb against her jaw. Her skin is so soft. How is it so soft? It's the end of the world, for chrissake. Not like there's a spa nearby.

She tastes sweet, warm, and something he can't name, but it's good.

He could taste her forever.

When she asks him to stay, he does.

Being in a cage isn't so bad, so long as she's with him.

\--

He wakes up the next morning at dawn, and for a moment he forgets where he is. Then he feels the warm body under his arm, and the slow movement of Carol's chest as she sleeps.

He pulls his arm away, lightly touches the back of her neck, trails his finger down her spine. He gets to do that now.

She smells so good. So sweet and light, like how the air used to smell, before the stench of rot took over.

Her hair's long enough now that it's brushing his nose, soft and gentle. This close he can see the different shades of grey and white that blend together.

He feels the rest of himself wake up, and his cheeks start to burn. Can't imagine she'd want to wake up with him poking her ass. He rolls onto his back and tries to will it away.

At that, she wakes up and turns over to face him. "Mornin'," she says, and her smile is soft and sweet. Is there anything about her that isn't sweet?

He grunts as a response, too busy trying to calm his body down.

A few minutes go by, and she's just been watching him the whole time. He managed to get rid of it, and he's been trying not to watch her watch him out of the corner of his eye, but he's feeling twitchy again. He doesn't like feeling twitchy.

Eventually, he gives in. "What?"

She shrugs as best she can, given half her body's laying on the bed. "Nothing. I just like looking at you."

He feels himself go pink, and he's about to say _stop_ , but then he remembers. He doesn't have to anymore.

She reaches out a hand to run up and down his arm, same as he did to her spine. He closes his eyes. Feels nice.

"Hey," she whispers, and he looks back at her.

She smiles, cups his jaw in her hand, and pulls him in.

He flinches. Last night might as well have been his first time kissing. Then first time sharing a bed, first time waking up to someone, first time kissing in the morning. Feels too real. Too many firsts. Too many more firsts to come.

She smiles, cups his jaw in her hand, and pulls him in.

She pulls back, smile gone. "What's wrong?"

He's sure as shit not gonna say anything. "Nothin'."

She's not giving up, though. "You can tell me, I'm not gonna laugh or anything."

Nope. He sits up, rubs at his eyes. He's not having this conversation right now. He's probably not ever gonna have this conversation.

She sits up too, grabs his arm. "Hey. Talk to me."

He ignores her and pulls on his boots, refuses to look at her.

"Daryl, wait." She sounds weird. Unsure of herself. So he looks at her, and he's surprised to see an expression he hasn't seen since the stupid piece of shit got offed.

"Is it me?"

 _Course not_ , he wants to say. _'S me, too fucked up to deal with this._

Too fucked up to deal with anything, really. Anyone.

But he can't bring himself to say it, so instead, he just shakes his head and keeps lacing his boots.

"Daryl, you don't have to be embarrassed with me. Or, or ashamed. Or whatever it is you're feeling. You know the worst, most humiliating parts about me. You've seen me at my lowest." She's actually pleading now. Fuck. He is the biggest asshole on the fucking planet.

He almost welcomes the self-loathing that coats his insides again, slimy and viscous and black as walker blood.

"Not - 's not - just." He can't do it. He physically can't fucking do it.

But he stops lacing his boots, just holds his face in his hands. Waiting for the burn to go away. Wishing he could just not give a shit and get the fuck out of there, hurt feelings be damned.

She touches the low of his back, a tentative, gentle thing. "You don't have to be scared of me. Or scared of talking to me."

Still nothing.

She drops her hand and clears her throat. "Well, if you're not gonna tell me, I'm just gonna have to guess." She pauses, and then asks, "You liked it, didn't you? Glad it happened?"

He knows, at least, that she understands what his silence means. Thank fuck for that. He'd never say a word about it anyway.

She tries again. "Okay, well, I liked it too. I'm glad it happened." Her voice lowers. "It feels like it's been a long time coming."

He feels her rustle around on the bed. "We don't... It's been a while, for me. I haven't had anything like this in years. Even back when it was normal, it'd been years."

He tenses up. She's getting too close to it for his comfort.

She's whispering now. "I want to go slow. I'm okay with going slow. I never saw you with anyone back at the quarry, so..."

He can hear a smile lacing her voice when she says, "And Lori'd had enough romantic trouble as it was, so I doubt there was anything there." Please. Like he'd put up with her antics. "And if Maggie's too young for you, Beth must not have been on your radar." Christ. If he wanted to get his balls cut off, maybe. Never been much interested in perving on teenagers, anyway. Stayed far away from some of Merle's buddies, creepy sons of bitches. "And Andrea shot you. I don't think you're forgiving enough for that."

He snorted. "More Merle's type than mine. Shane's too, I guess." This, he's more comfortable with. More familiar territory, making fun of the group. Loosens his tongue a little.

But of course, that doesn't stay for long. She snickers, and then, "Anyway, I'm just saying it's okay. I know I talk a big game, but... that's more in good fun than anything else."

He turns just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye. She's open. Sincere.

He's surprised at how twitchy that makes him.

He doesn't say anything, and instead, he gets up and walks to the door of her cell.

\--

Normally, he doesn't mind walker duty, even if it is monotonous as hell. He likes feeling useful. Likes feeling like he's protecting the group. Likes feeling like he's valuable.

Since the farm he's felt more and more confident that he's not just an extra, or some redneck they'd rather do without. Merle's voice still comes through sometimes, but it's easier to shut him the fuck up. Less believable, mostly.

But today, on walker duty, he wishes he weren't. Wishes he were on a run, or hunting. Easier to shift his focus when it's do-or-die, eat-or-starve. He feels too safe killing these walkers, protected by the fence. Can't force his mind to redirect.

Instead, he can't stop coming back to this morning. And last night.

He's not sure if he's glad it happened or not. It was nice. He's got a stupid crush on her, has for a while, like a goddamn kid. Not quite sure when it started, but it's there. He figured she knew it, or at least suspected. He's always treated her different than anyone else. And she's been able to see what's what, when it comes to him. Easier to do when Merle's not mouthing off and egging him on, isolating him from everyone else. Helping to keep them at arm's length.

She's always gotten under his skin, though, even before she tried. He's been more oriented to her than anyone else in the camp, even back at the quarry. Battered wives have different rules.

So yeah, maybe it has been a long time coming. He knows she likes feeling useful too, and even though their group's more tightly knit than ever, they're still hovering around the outskirts together. Can't help but feel some kinda way when it's just you and someone else.

Or at least he tries to tell himself that. He knows it's bullshit, but it's easier to swallow than what's real.

Of course, after last night - and this morning - that's all gone to shit. Nothing left but what's real now.

He knows it's stupid. He knows she wouldn't judge him, or laugh at him, or make fun of him, or whatever nasty thing Merle's telling him about her. She's better than that. Different.

He's got no fucking clue what he's doing when it comes to women. Always too aware that he'd only been around women that got treated like shit, and he's wondered, deep down, if that's just how he was gonna be wired, too.

Rick's a good man. First man he'd seen that treated his woman with respect. With love. Even after all the shit she pulled on him.

He still remembers that one night at the farm, after Sophia walked out and fucking ruined him. When he said what he said to Carol. When she thought he was gonna hit her.

There's plenty of shit he hates himself for, shit he's never gonna let go or forgive himself for. Before and after the world ended.

But that's near the top of the list. The look on her face is burned into his brain. Into the backs of his eyelids.

She's gotta remember that. The first man she trusted after her stupid sorry excuse for a husband ate it ended up just like him.

But she doesn't act like it. She's a different woman than she was at the quarry. She holds her own. She's not afraid of him. She still trusts him. No fucking clue why.

And now she wants him. Wants him in the one way he doesn't know shit about. He knows what it's like to be wanted for safety or food or tracking or drugs. Shit for survival. Even Merle. The most he wanted him for was brotherhood. Sense of family. Sidekick and someone to kill time with that would put up with his shit.

Nobody ever wanted him for something more. Something deeper.

He never saw himself like this. Before the world went to shit he never wanted a wife or kids or none of that. Half because he was too fucked up with Merle to do shit with his life. Half because of how he might treat them.

So he never tried. He walked in on his dad with a woman once while his mom was passed out on the couch and got the everloving shit beat out of him for it. Had nightmares about it for years. Couldn't get it out of his head when he was a teenager. Stopped him cold anytime he started necking. So he didn't bother trying after a while.

And by the time he got over it, he was too old and too fucked up and too lost in a haze to want to do it. Or do more. Hell, he was too fucked up to want to give a shit about it.

Now it's come and bit him in the ass.

He's sober and clearheaded and knows it's fucking humiliating being a virgin at his age.

Even if she'd never had a kid, he'd know she'd had sex before. Even if she'd never been married, he'd know. Him and Carl, that's it, and pretty soon it'll be just him.

She can always see right through him, always seems to know exactly what he's thinking and feeling. But there's no fucking way she'd know this. No fucking way she'd ever even guess it. Ain't a damn person in this camp that would ever guess it.

Just another thing for him to hate about himself. Hate how humiliated he feels about it.

Even Merle didn't know, probably. He sometimes shoved the same hookers towards him as he did towards his biker buddies if he happened to be at the clubhouse at the wrong time. Thought he was a prude for not doing it in front of everyone, sure, but probably never thought he'd be so out of his depth that he just left them sitting in the bedroom while he got high across town.

Not like he ever really fixated on it, or anything. Usually just never really thought about it, never had any reason to. Had a million other things to think about, or was in a state of mind he couldn't think at all. Didn't think about it, and didn't give a damn.

And he still didn't, not really. Not til Carol started saying what she started saying. That sure as shit reminded him.

Then last night, and this morning, and now he can't stop fucking thinking about it.

He hates feeling insecure. It's weak. Pathetic. He shouldn't give a shit about what anyone else thinks of him. It doesn't make a difference - they feel how they feel, and it's not gonna change. But he's never been able to shut that part of himself down unless he was drunk or high or both. It was easier with Merle, too - there was another redneck asshole for them to hate, so he wasn't the odd one out.

Feeling on edge about his place in the group was one thing. Feeling on edge about something like this is another thing. As if he weren't fucked up enough by friendships, he had to be fucked up by relationships, and had to be fucked up by sex too.

J.C. never cut him a fucking break, that's for damn sure.

\--

He tries to avoid her after that. Hunts all day, stands on watch all night. Grabs a few bites of dinner while she's serving and doesn't look her in the eye, just so she won't bring him food later. Sneaks in a couple hours of shut eye here and there when she's on laundry duty. Even sometimes sleeps in a fucking cell just to make sure he's invisible.

But she's too goddamn wily, and it only lasts about a week until one night while on watch duty, a little while after he relieves Glenn. She must have waited until she knew they'd be uninterrupted.

She doesn't say anything when she comes up the tower, just stands next to him.

He doesn't want to do this. "You wanna take over watch, be my guest. Make yourself useful so I can get some fuckin' sleep."

He doesn't sound as vicious as he wanted to, and she just stands there, waiting him out. So he doesn't bother trying again.

Her silence is making him twitchy, and he can't stop chewing on his thumb, pretending to look out to the field.

Eventually, she says, "It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

He's prepared for this conversation to be uncomfortable, so he manages not to flinch or cringe or show any sign that he's paying attention to her. But he's still dreading what's coming next. Because of course more's coming.

She sighs. "I haven't had the kind of love this group has for one another in a long, long time." She crosses her arms against the chill. "Not sure if I ever have, actually."

He's still ignoring her. Mostly.

She keeps talking, like he knew she would. "To have that's already a little tough to navigate. And then when you deal with the way we feel about each other, it's enough to stop you cold." She holds herself a little tighter. "Not saying that you and I are in love, or anything, but it's certainly different than the way we feel about everyone else, don't you think?"

He sees her shiver and has to tamp down the urge to give her his poncho.

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately. At first I had just figured that the feelings were just too much. Too complicated. And I think they still are."

He turns away so he doesn't have to see her shivering out of the corner of his eye.

"But then I kept thinking about it. And I've seen your scars, Daryl. I may not have as many, and I know they came from different people, but I have them too. And I know how that changes it. How it changes the way we can touch other people. How we can be touched."

He clenches his fists on reflex. God fucking _dammit_.

He knows she saw that by the note of confidence growing in her voice. "Like I said earlier, I want to go slow. Not just with the feelings. I know you might want to go even slower. And that's okay, I don't want to rush you. I want whatever you want, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it is."

He knows what she's about to say, and he wishes she wouldn't.

"Even if it's only kissing, Daryl. Even if that's all we do. Ever," she murmurs, and the shame washes over him again.

She stands there for a few minutes more, but he refuses to say anything, and eventually, she leaves.

\--

He's lonely, without her. It sucks. And everyone notices that he's avoiding her. Glenn's been bugging him, asking him to fix it, trying to get him to open up. Hershel, too. Even _Beth_ of all people tried to talk about it, but she cut that shit short when he put the redneck asshole face back on.

Didn't say anything to her, though. She's just a kid. She's too sensitive. Wouldn't be able to brush it off the way the others mostly can. Mostly.

He's lonely, and he knows Carol's hurting. Even if she doesn't say anything. He feels like a piece of shit hurting her over something so goddamn stupid, too.

It's a different kind of loneliness, having something and stepping back from it. Feels emptier. Feels like there's something missing.

So why the fuck is he doing this to himself? Doesn't feel good. Doesn't feel safe. Just feels like shit.

He's changed. This group changed him, he knows. He's let people in, _really_ let people in, and now he can't get their claws out of him. They've left a mark. And his normal distance-and-isolate routine isn't cutting it anymore.

There's no fucking point to this. It hurts when she's not around, it'll hurt when she moves on. Knowing what it feels like, knowing what it _could_ feel like, and choosing _not_ to feel it anymore hurts worse than straight up rejection. Probably.

Fuck it. He's never been the self-destructive type. Well, he has, but not like this. Not to the point where he cared about it. Might as well try something new.

So one night, he gives in. He goes to her cell, and when she's not there, he waits for her.

She's brought a book back with her from the library, and she doesn't seem surprised to see him standing there.

She quietly closes the cell door behind her, pulls the makeshift curtain shut, and simply says, "Hi."

He can already feel his palms start to sweat. This is almost definitely a bad idea.

She sits on the bed, pats the space next to her. "Come sit with me," she says.

The deja vu is making him twitchy. Figures. But he sits next to her and spots the book she brought back with her, now lying on the floor.

 _White Fang_. Isn't that kismet.

She just looks at him, waiting. He knows it's his turn. She's already done her part.

He takes a deep breath, tries to calm his shaking hands. Doesn't work, so instead, he just slides a fingernail into his mouth.

"Uh." His mouth is too dry for this. He clears his throat, and just grunts, "You were right."

She nods. Of course she was right.

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Fuck, this is so fucking uncomfortable."'M sorry. For, y'know." And he gestures to the book on the floor.

She cracks a small smile at that. "It's been a long time since I read it, so I wanted to brush up. Not like I could watch _Harry and the Hendersons_ instead."

He snorts. "For the best, anyway."

She nods, just keeps looking at him.

He feels his face flame red. "Don't wanna talk about it, though."

She nods. "That's all you had to say, Daryl."

He knows. Of course he knows. But it's embarrassing. He's like an overgrown nine-year-old. Sure, he can hunt, and track, and kill, but that's about it. He's got next to no people skills. And everything that comes along with it. The last friends he had were from before his mom died, and from that point on, his only real contact with people was his sonofabitch dad and Merle when he was actually around, plus whatever tweaker friends or biker buddies Merle bought from.

No. He's too used to being on his own, and never needing to open up. So he doesn't. Can't. Even though now he fucking wishes he could. Sort of.

But she knows all of that. He knows she does.

Makes him feel twitchy and at ease all at the same time. And _that_ makes him feel twitchy.

Nothing's ever simple.

She places a hand on his knee, quiets the agitation growing louder in his head. "Hey. Stay with me."

He nods, breathes out. He finally looks her in the eye, and she's open again. So sincere. So sweet.

She murmurs, "Are you gonna make yourself scarce for the next week if I kiss you again?"

He shakes his head. He won't. He might want to. But he won't.

She kisses him, and it's just as overwhelming as before, but it's okay. He knows what to expect.

She tastes so sweet, and when he runs his thumb along her cheekbone, he feels her smile against him. So he does it again, and again, and again, and eventually his mind shuts down and he can just focus on how she smells, how she tastes, how she feels. How he feels. Because he feels good.

She doesn't ask him to stay, just lays down after a while, and he lays down next to her.

She falls asleep facing him, and he's up for a while longer, just looking at her. She's peaceful when she sleeps. It helps calm him.

And when he falls asleep, he's facing her, too.

\--

The next morning, he gets up early to hunt, and though he tries not to wake her, it's tough to do when she's only a foot away.

She sits up in bed while he's lacing his boots. Funny how different it is this time.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, sleepy and trying to hold back a yawn.

"Hunt. Been a few days." He's ready to go, but he turns to look back at her.

She's just looking at him, but her face is blank. Ready to take whatever he dishes out.

God, he's such a piece of shit.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's reaching a hand out to cup her chin, runs his thumb up her jaw and tucks one of her growing curls behind her ear.

He can't say the words, but when he sees her mask fall, he knows she gets it.

She kisses his palm, squeezes it with both hands, and goes back to bed.

\--

A few hours later, he comes back with a buck in tow, and when he sees Carol standing at the gates with a huge grin on her face, he walks a little taller for the rest of the day.

He goes to her cell again that night, and the next night, and the next, until his perch has been all but abandoned.

They never do more than what they've already done, but it's okay. It doesn't feel like he's about to pass out anymore. Feels more normal.

\--

One night, he's back on overnight watch duty, and when he gets back to her cell, she's already waking up for laundry. She squeezes his hand, whispers "Good morning, try to get some sleep," and off she goes.

He passes out on her bed, and has such an intense sex dream that he wakes up sweating and stiff as a board.

Fuck.

\--

He can't stop thinking about it, to the point where she notices how distracted he is. It's late at night, and it took him three times as long to finish cleaning all the guns as it normally does when he tried to keep himself busy after dinner.

She's trying to kiss him, but she must feel how tense he is, and pulls back.

"What's wrong?"

He can't meet her eyes, but he knows his face is burning.

He hears her chuckle, and she says, "Yeah, me too."

His eyes flicker towards her, and she glances knowingly at his lap. Son of a _bitch_.

He buries his face in his hands and tries to swallow back the curse. He feels her fingers stroke over his, and she gently pulls them away.

"Hey," she says, all soft and kind. "It's fine if not, but if you want, that's fine too."

The image flashes into his mind again, and he feels a wave of embarrassed heat wash over him. But he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

And it's not like she'll give a fuck. She's made it pretty clear that she's down for whatever. And she's got to have realized by now what his hangups are. She all but said it before, anyway.

So fuck it.

He pushes her down onto the bed, and he cups his hand around her hip, skims his thumb under the bottom of her shirt. He glances at her, and she sits up, pulls it over her head, and lays back down again.

He knew she never bothered wearing a bra - just more work to do, and they look uncomfortable as hell anyway - but it still sends a shock through him, just looking at her tits.

Christ, she's beautiful.

He leans down to kiss her, trying to figure out the best way to do it without crushing her. She pushes and pulls until he's on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms, and he licks into her mouth.

The images are still there, though, and he wonders if he can get rid of them just by _doing_ something about it.

So he kisses down her neck, down to her tits, and when he glances at her, she's looking back at him, her cheeks a little pink. Good. It's about time.

She just nods, says, "Whatever you want."

So he does.

He licks under her tits, sucks her nipple into his mouth, tries to pinch the other one, but she brushes off his hand. "Not so hard."

"Sorry," he grunts, and goes back to it.

Her skin's even softer here, and she's _covered_ in freckles, more than he ever thought she'd be, and he thinks one day he could count all of them. Then he mentally slaps himself. What the fuck is he, some Disney prince?

He slides his teeth across her nipple, and he sees goosebumps pop up, so he does it again, and again, and again, until she breathes out, short and heavy.

Alright. He can get the hang of this. He keeps touching her and starts licking her sternum, her collarbone, her neck - _fuck_ , she tastes so _good_ \- and she keeps panting and twitching under him, running her fingers through his hair and sliding them over the shirt on his chest.

Her hips jerk up underneath him, rub against him, and he flushes red. He's so _fucking_ hard, she had to have felt it, but then she lets out a little moan.

"Shit, sorry, Daryl," she bites out, but it felt good as hell, so fuck it. She wants it, she gets it.

He grinds into her again, and she gasps, lets out a panted, "Oh _god_ ," and so he keeps doing it, sucking on her jaw and sliding his thumb over her nipple until he hears her say, "Fuck, I gotta - Daryl, you - I'm sorry, but I'm gonna go crazy if I don't -," and he feels her shove her hand in between them, her knuckles bumping against him.

He pulls back, watches her hand slide under her waistband, and the image of her open legs flashes across his mind again. So he decides, fuck it, if she's gonna do it, he might as well too.

"Wait," he grunts, and bats at her wrist until she pulls out her hand, and he yanks down her sweatpants.

She's wearing a pair of underwear that's been darned a hundred times over, should have been tossed ages ago, but there's no point in wasting the fabric nowadays. And they're thin and ratty and he can _smell_ her right through them. God _damn_ , she smells good there, too.

He looks at her, and she's biting her lip, not sure what to do next, but he just nods at her. "Keep goin'."

Her jaw drops open, and he hastily adds, "Uh, unless -," but she cuts him off, already shaking her head.

"No, no, that's - yeah, okay," and she shoves her underwear halfway down her thighs.

He sits back on his ankles, watching her hand slide down, push through her pubic hair until she starts rubbing at a little bump below it. She lets out another moan and squeezes her eyes shut.

"That your clit?" he asks, gruff and low.

She nods, keeps rubbing, and he feels more blood rush to his dick. _Fuck_ , that's hot.

She moves her other hand down, grabbing at her folds and sliding a finger in between them. Her knees slam shut as her hand rubs faster at her clit, and before he realizes it, he's pushing her knees apart, can't take his eyes off her hands.

She gasps at that, rubbing faster and faster, and he watches another finger slide inside of her, curl up, moving in and out, and then she says, "Oh my _god_ ," thin and strained, and pushes her hips down into her hands, shoves her face into the pillow next to her and makes a ton of muffled sounds he can't wait to _really_ hear, and slows her hands, slides her fingers out.

His dick is throbbing and he can't ignore it anymore, so he unzips his pants and yanks it out, squeezing and rubbing and trying to get himself off as quick as he can. He doesn't usually do this, doesn't really like how vulnerable it makes him, but _fuck_ he wants to do it right now.

He lets out a tiny groan and she hears him, and when she sees what he's doing she just watches, still breathing hard.

He's looking at her until he can't help but squeeze his eyes shut, and he blurts out, "Carol - shit, I'm -," and comes all over her legs. "Sorry," he grunts, but he doesn't actually feel too sorry.

She chuckles, and pulls him on top of her again to kiss him, long and deep.

He pulls back and rests his forehead on hers, with his eyes still closed. "Carol, god _damn_ , that was - _shit_ , wow."

She huffs out a laugh, finally able to catch her breath. "Yeah."

He collapses next to her, yanks up his pants, and pulls her back in, gently kissing her and running his thumb across her cheekbones again.

She's so beautiful, but looking at her like this, cheeks pink and a soft, sweet smile on her face, just about kills him.

He's got it bad. Has for a long, long time.

Eventually, they fall asleep like that, face-to-face and his hand resting across her.

\--

The next morning, he wakes up before she does, and he looks at her, watches her breathe. She's so peaceful like this, but she doesn't look vulnerable - she looks just as strong as she always does, using her quiet voice and friendly face to disarm whoever dares cross her.

She mumbles, "I can feel you watching me," and he huffs out a laugh.

He snorts. "Can you blame me?"

She opens her eyes at that, and smiles.

They just look at each other, quiet and calm for a while, until she says, "I really liked that."

His face predictably heats up, but he nods.

She adds, "I figure you probably haven't done something like that, but that was my first time doing that, too. Getting myself off while someone watches."

He wants to hide his face in the pillow, but he manages to hold her gaze, and flashes her a faint smile.

"Good," he says, and he means it.

\--

And so they go like that for a while, through all the shit with the Governor, and when he chooses to leave her and the rest of the family behind for Merle, he regrets it immediately, and changes his mind just in time.

She forgives him without a second thought, and welcomes him back into bed, like nothing's changed.

He's surprised at how easily he goes with her. Sure, it's added to the long list of shit he wishes he could take back, ways he's hurt Carol and the selfish, stupid choices he's made on a whim, but she makes it easier for him to push it all aside.

She's made it clear that she doesn't see his fuckups anywhere near the same realm as Ed's fuckups - mostly, as she's put it, because Daryl actually knows he fucked up, and feels bad about it. He fucks up, but it's usually for the right reasons, she says, and it's still not something he believes. Still not something he feels is forgivable.

But he swore to himself that he'd never underestimate her, ever again, and so he takes her at her word.

And this time, he swears to himself that he'll never leave her again.

\--

After the Woodbury people arrive, they don't see each other during the day, just since there's so much more to do. But he's moved his stuff - his pack, really, because she's been keeping clean clothes and books and stuff for him in her cell pretty much since the first night - in with her, and they sleep together every night, unless he's on night watch.

He manages to get out of it, more often than not.

One night, out of the blue, he's about to fall asleep when she whispers, "I love you."

His eyes pop open, and he can't do anything but stare at her.

She's got nothing but sincerity written all over her face, and Merle's voice just barely starts talking when he shuts the fuck up.

He believes her.

He's not sure if what he feels is love, but if it's not, he doesn't know what else it is.

He still has trouble talking to her about himself - more often than not she just answers her own questions or reads the look on his face well enough - and so of course he can't say anything.

But he's always been a man of action, and she knows that. She's not expecting him to say anything back. But she's expecting him to show it. And he will.

He kisses her like he always does, tries to put everything he can't say into it, and he thinks she understands.

He trails down her her neck, hikes the hem of her shirt up and kisses her stomach, and hooks his fingers around the waistband of her pants, looking at her.

He's gotten more comfortable with sex, but he's been putting off doing this. This is probably what he's most insecure about, since her entire focus is on what he's doing, but he's still wanted to do it. Thought about it more times than he can count, and thinks he'd love doing it. He knows he loves how she tastes - the first time she came after he fingered her, he pulled out his fingers and sucked them clean. Christ, she tasted even better there. And her smell had lingered on his fingers til the next morning, and so then he couldn't help but do it again. They were late to their shifts, but fuck it. If Maggie and Glenn can get away with it, so can they.

And now, she smiles at him, and so he pulls her pants and underwear down her legs and tosses them on the floor.

He runs his hands up her calves, slow and gentle, feeling the soft hair rub against his palms, until he reaches her hipbones. He kisses them both, touches the inside of her thighs, and they fall open, like a book, ready to read.

He rests his cheek against her pubic hair and just smells her, the thick, hot scent of her, before dipping his face down and licking her apart.

It's a hundred times stronger than it was on his fingers, and he fucking _loves_ it.

He's licking deep into her, making these embarrassing slurping noises, can barely get a breath in, but _Christ_ this is incredible. It just keeps coming. He doesn't stop until she taps the top of his head.

"Hey," she says, a little out of breath, "I'm glad you like that but you're missing something important."

He blushes, mutters, "Yeah, sorry," and mouths over her clit, watching her face.

She lets out a moan, squeezes her eyes shut, and he grins to himself.

It's small on his tongue - he keeps fumbling with it until he tries to use the tip of his tongue instead, and at that, she moans a little louder, so he wiggles it around while he feels his chin getting wetter and wetter. God _damn_ , he was right. He fucking loves this.

"Daryl - _ungh -_ suck on it, use your fingers," she pants.

He does, just like he's done to her nipples, and she bucks her hips into his face. "Sorry," she pants, but he just murmurs, "Do whatever the fuck you want, 's all 'bout you," and she huffs out a laugh.

He tries to finger her while he's doing this, but the angle's awkward, so he pulls off, grabs a spare pillow from the top bunk, and shoves it under her hips. Then he yanks at her legs until he's close enough to bury himself between her thighs, and gets back to it.

He's finally able to slide a finger into her, and when she moans he adds another, and she starts rubbing herself onto his face, almost too fast for him to keep up. Almost.

She lets out a harsh, " _Fuck_ , Daryl," and he feels her _pulse_ against his chin.

He can feel her thighs shaking next to his shoulders, and he slowly pulls his finger out, sucks it clean like he's done before, and licks at her until she pulls him up and kisses him.

"You wonderful man," she murmurs against his lips, and he cups her face in his hands.

Yeah. He loves her.

\--

That's become his new favorite thing to do, and he just jerks himself off while he kisses her right afterwards. She seems to like it.

Until one night, as he's rubbing himself, she puts a hand on his arm and says, "You know, I'm happy to do that for you."

He knows, but he still feels a cold wave take over him whenever he thinks about it. It's one thing to make her feel good. It's another thing to have her touch him.

She senses his hesitation, and knows not to pry. So instead, she says, "What if we try something else?"

He shrugs. "Like what?"

"How about I show you, and if you don't like it, we can forget about it."

He trusts her more than he's trusted anyone else, ever, and so even though he feels the pit of his stomach drop, he nods. "Okay."

She smiles at him, kisses him, and says, "Take your pants off all the way."

He does, and she lays him down on his side, and presses her back against his chest.

She wiggles around she's basically sitting on his dick, and he can't stop himself from groaning. She whispers, "Just - push forward, until you're at the other side. It helps if you put your leg over my hip."

He does, and when he feels how wet she still is from his mouth, he groans even louder. " _Fuck_ , Carol."

"That's the idea," she whispers, and he huffs out a laugh.

He swallows his pride, and says, "Now what?"

She slides against him. "Move back and forth, like that."

So he does, and _shit_ , he could get used to this.

He's fucking between her thighs, smearing her wetness all over his dick, and kisses the back of her neck, biting at the knob of her spine, and slides his hand under her arm to squeeze at her tits. It's overwhelming, but it's not making him panic - this is probably the best thing he's ever felt, and he doesn't want it to end, but he feels himself getting closer.

He chokes out, "Shit, Carol - I'm gonna -," and she cuts him off.

"Uh-uh, not til you get me off again," and he laughs.

" _Fuck_ , okay," and he tries to think about anything else besides her cunt sliding over his dick and the heat shooting up his chest. He moves his hand from her chest to her clit, and starts rubbing, hard and fast.

She twists her arm behind her to grab at the back of his neck, pulling his head forward for him to kiss her, and he fucks up the rhythm he had going and feels her smile against him.

"Keep going, I'm so close - Daryl, god, _faster_ ," and she bites at his lips.

"I'm _tryin'_ , damn, woman," and he bites into her shoulder, rubbing as fast as he can, until she crushes her thighs together and comes with a muffled shout, shoving her face into the pillow.

He grunts into her ear, " _Christ_ , Carol, that was so fuckin' hot - you feel so fuckin' _good_ , god _dammit_ , can I please come yet, please -," and the second he feels her nod he squeezes her tits again, shoves his nose into her hair and pumps faster and faster until he pushes her off his dick and comes all over her ass.

He can barely catch his breath before she turns over and kisses him, sloppy and wet and he's not really able to do anything besides breathe hard into her mouth.

She just giggles at that, whispers, "So that was good?"

He can't manage anything besides, "Stop."

She knows he's never been a talker, that he has a tough time saying the words that matter, so he says it in his own way. In a language she can understand.

He wants her and trusts her and loves her, and he knows she knows it too.


End file.
